


Drawing Lines

by justalittlegreen



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Idiots, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:57:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: for Flootzavut





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flootzavut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/gifts).



Sid is always the first one to arrive on the first day of class. It keeps the nerves down to see everyone coming in, to know that he can pick his spot, inspect the light, the wobbliness of the chair, set himself up so that he’s ready when class begins. Art classes, even more so. It’s not his first crack at life drawing – he did a series at the local junior college when he was in high school – but it’s still important that he find his place and steady himself.

He chooses a spot close to the corner, with his back to the window, and pulls out his smaller sketchbook, thumbing his favorite eraser in his pocket, the one he can’t stand to actually use because it feels so perfect under his fingers. He flips it open to the third page, a half-finished sketch he’s been working on for his mother’s birthday, and starts shading the geraniums. She prides herself on being able to grow beautiful things even eleven stories up, in the city. Sidney’s complained on the occasion of more than one hot summer that her window boxes keep them from being able to install air conditioners. But still, the cheery, awkward blossoms give him a little ache in his stomach, from the other side of his illustrated window. 

He’s vaguely aware of other students trickling in, but he doesn’t look up until he hears the purposeful stride of the teacher. He’s not one of those teachers that insists on looking artsy, thankfully; he’s in kahkis and a plaid button-down. And next to him is a raven-haired beauty in a ratty red bathrobe, with bluer eyes than a summer sky, and a body that’s half grace, half gangle. Must be the model.  
The professor’s introductions are over before they’ve hardly begun. The model stands there, looking a little awkward, until the prof suggests, “Why don’t you start with that stool over there, Hawkeye, something standing. Then after the break, we’ll do something recumbent, so you can get a break.”

The model – he looks about Sid’s age – grins. “Sounds good,” he says, taking just a beat to examine the stool like he’s contemplating his pose. _He must be new at this,_ Sid thinks. It’s clear to him that the kid is stalling. He wishes he was brave enough to be the kind of guy who’d call something out to him – something like _Ladies and gents, take my advice; pull down your pants and slide on the ice._ His dad is brave like that. His dad taught him that phrase when he was six, making him the envy and admiration of the playground for a few minutes. Sid smiles at the model, even though he’s not looking his way.

Finally, after about two seconds that feel like two minutes, the model – Hawkeye, the prof called him? – sheds his robe and drapes it on a nearby chair. He hops up on the stool, letting one leg hang, and bending one up, leaning on it with his elbow. He’s in profile to Sid, who immediately lets his pencil hit the paper, before he starts thinking too much. He loses himself in the shapes, the angles. He loves the way sketching empties his head.

As he’s confronting a tricky section of armpit-related creases, the prof calls a break. Sid stretches and yawns and reaches for his pencil sharpener. He’s methodically laying out his paper and pencils for the next round when a shadow falls across the page. He looks up, and Hawkeye, the model, is standing over him in his bathrobe with a nervous half-smile on his face.

“Come here often?” says Hawkeye, hands in his pockets, slouching in a way that makes Sid want to poke him to make him straighten up. Hawkeye’s nerves put him at ease. He leans back in his chair, folds his hands behind his head. “Every Tuesday at 10, like clockwork,” he deadpans.

Hawkeye chuckles, and the faintest hint of a blush comes over him. Sid grins. It’s not the first time a pretty boy’s stumbled over his tongue in front of him. Doesn’t get old, either.

“Is your name really Hawkeye?” he asks. Hawkeye nods.

“Is it a Last of the Mohicans reference, or were your parents just hippies?”

Hawkeye’s eyes light up. “No one ever gets that,” he breathes. “Who _are_ you?”

Sid sticks a hand out. “Sid Freedman. Junior. Psych major who forgot his arts requirement.”

Hawkeye’s handshake is firmer and more confident than the rest of him. “Hawkeye Pierce. Sophomore. Attention whore and campus narcissist.”

Now Sid’s paying attention. “Is that why you decided to become a model?”

Hawkeye shrugs. “Seemed like a good way to meet people.” He smirks, a bit of mischief in his eye. “And it worked.”

Sid grins – there is definitely some fun to be had here. He starts to respond with, “Nice to meet you,” but the prof interrupts to bring the class back to attention. He pushes a long padded bench into the middle of the room and invites Hawkeye back to the center of the ring. This time, Hawkeye doesn’t hesitate. He drops the robe on the floor and sprawls on the bench, lithe and taut. He’s holding himself too stiffly, Sid thinks. He’s going to regret that.

This time, Hawkeye faces him and stares at Sid as he sketches. Sid pretends not to notice, focusing on the curve between Hawkeye’s ribs and hips. He’s always been good at drawing lines like that.  
The second round of drawing is exactly as long as the first, but feels longer because Sid’s thoughts keep drifting as he draws. He’s not the sort to get wholly wrapped up in someone’s pretty face, but he _is_ human. And it’s the start of the semester, when everything from notebooks to new faces are all crisp and fresh and full of potential.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Flootzavut

The next time he sees Hawkeye, it’s on a Saturday, at the coffee shop with the to-die-for pastries just a little off campus. Sid’s there, cracking the books with an espresso in one hand and a peach tart in the other. Hawkeye comes in with his arm slung around a kid Sid recognizes from crew, though he gave it up after two semesters. They order at the counter, and Sid gets an eyeful of Hawkeye’s hand slipping into Mr. Coxswain’s back pocket. 

Sid shakes his head and tries to come back to the theory of internal family systems, but his mind and memory conspire to mentally undress Hawkeye. He knows all too well the shapes under that gigantic hoodie and baggy jeans.

 _Come on,_ he chides himself. _You have to see him naked every week. Don’t make this hard on yourself._ But it’s a little too late. His body’s already showing more signs of life than he’s felt in a minute. As Hawkeye and his companion leave the counter, Sid looks back to his books, thinking about Francis. 

The very first piece of advice he’d gotten from the campus gay-straight alliance was _Roommate booty is bad booty._ Advice he’d thought ridiculous at the time – he didn’t even have a roommate, and if he did, he was certain that laundry piles, empty packages of instant noodles and inevitable inebriation would cure him of any amorous follies.

Francis moved in halfway through the semester. Sid moved on him two weeks later. 

Francis was sweet and quiet, and neat as a pin. He was a double major – religion and philosophy – and headed for divinity school, he said. He and Sid got into their first debate about the nature of human beings in the cafeteria, which continued once they got back to their room, and barely stopped as they started kissing. Within a week, they’d shoved their single beds together, and Sid thought he’d found heaven in the body of a future priest.

Which is, of course, what killed it. 

The breakup was much like the relationship; two deep bodies of still water, deeply connected and fascinated with one another, coming to an inevitable realization. Sid thought he knew from guilt, but Francis took it to an entirely new level.

“It’s not that I don’t love you,” he’d said to Sid quietly, their fingers interlocked across the table. “It’s that…I think I finally understand why the church demands celibacy. I’m – I’m getting lost in this. Losing sight of the path.”

“If the path is one that ultimately holds human connection as the gold standard of existence, this seems to be the wrong way to go about it,” Sid had answered bitterly. Still, there was no talking Francis out of it. He transferred dorms before the winter break, and though they’d started saying hi to one another in passing, it still stung.

He hasn’t touched anyone – has hardly even _thought_ about anyone since Francis. And now he’s mentally stripping the art class model. _Good one, Freedman_ his brain sighs.

He turns back to studying, but ends up doodling himself into a sketching session – the espresso machine, the door of the shop. He’s putting the finishing touches on the unruly dark hair of one of the two definitely-anonymous-and-wholly-invented men at the counter when he hears, “Is that me?”

Sid jerks up, startled. Hawkeye is over his shoulder, peering curiously at his sketch. Sid throws an arm over it and tries to cover by making it look like he’s putting his elbow on the table so he can lean his head back into his hand.

It definitely works.

“Just practicing working from memory,” he says a little defensively. “We don’t always have the benefit of someone posing for us. I didn’t even realize it was you,” he adds, realizing too late how pathetic that sounds. Sure enough, Hawkeye smirks at him, eyes twinkling.

“Where’s your friend?” Sid continues, scanning the horizon for short, angry-looking college students.

“Bathroom,” Hawkeye says easily, pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards, resting his chin on his arms. “It wasn’t going particularly well. I think he’s going to come out and I’m going to find out he’s had an urgent call for a middle-of-the-afternoon practice.”

Sid chuckles. “What will you do if he doesn’t?”

Hawkeye bats his eyelashes in a way that can only be described as shameless. “Why, don’t you remember that project we were supposed to work on together?”

“Hawkeye?” The call comes from halfway across the shop. Hawkeye stands up as his date approaches, waving his mobile. “They need me at the dock. Something about a varnish accident. I’ll uh, see you around?” Hawkeye nods solemnly. “Okay. Yeah. See you around.” The other man hurries out of the shop, jangling the bells tied around the doorknob as he goes.

As soon as the door shuts, Hawkeye bursts out laughing, and Sid joins him. He likes the way this kid laughs with his whole body, eyes crinkled, mouth wide, curling into a clench and slapping his thigh. Finally, he wipes a tear from his eye. “Did I call it, or did I call it?” he crows.

“Guess you won’t have you pull out your excuse,” Sid says with something that feels like a tinge of regret. 

“Well, we could go work on a project somewhere.” Hawk leans in and picks up one of Sid’s pencils. Sid resists the urge to rip it out of his hand. “I could pose for you.”

 _Sidney, you idiot,_. Has it been that long that he’s forgotten what it feels like to be hit on? And by this brash little sophomore, no less. Well, fine. He wants to play that game, Sid can show him a few moves. And besides, he needs to be practicing his armpit curves anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not quite 'want to see my drawings?' but it's damn close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still for flootzavut

Sid’s room is still a double without a roommate; after what happened with Francis, the university seemed to forget there was an available space in his dorm. For months, he kept that side of the room neat and waiting for its next occupant, but he’s given up now. He pushed the two beds together and covered them with a roll of foam, and then a king-size sheet. He loves being able to sprawl.

With the two college-issue nightstands on either side, he knows it looks less dormlike than most, a fact he’s rather proud of. The other side of the room is his office, books sprawled across the two desks.  


He heads for the electric kettle and says, “I’m going to have a cup of tea. You want one?”

Hawkeye takes off his coat and drapes it over the back of Sid’s chair. “Um, I guess. I’m not really a tea drinker, but it sounds nice.”

Man, Sid loves being able to knock him just a little off balance, to sweep that swagger away, to say _I see your uncertainty and I raise you half a reassurance._ He busies himself pulling out mugs and tea bags – black for himself, and something fruity for Hawkeye, an apple cinnamon herbal that came as part of a collection. He’ll never drink it himself, but the sweetness seems appropriate.

“How’d you get this place?” Hawkeye asks with a little awe in his voice. “And no roommate?”

“Luck,” Sid answers easily. “Or maybe a bureaucratic error in my favor.” He turns around to see Hawk admiring his wall; it holds one of his favorite line drawings, a portrait of his parents on the beach he drew from a photograph, their bodies long and lean, a newspaper over his father’s face, and his mother’s head tipped back to catch the sun. It’s flanked on either side by posters; a Van Gogh print (but _not_ Starry Night, he’s not that much of a cliché – he got Café Terrace at Night, which is every bit as warm and evocative, but somehow more human) and a Keep Calm And Carry On poster, which is an obscure British World War II reference that nobody understands but somehow everyone finds amusing.

“So,” Sid says, letting Hawkeye know he caught him drifting, “I can sketch from anywhere as long as I can get a foot up on my bed or desk to lean on. The light’s best over the bed; how do you want to do this?” 

Hawkeye does his best not to swallow too noticeably. _Okay, so we’re doing this._ “Um, I think I need a lot of, like, neck support,” he says with an eye to Sid’s pillows. “That last pose on Tuesday really killed my shoulders.” 

_Toldja,_ Sid thinks. He gestures to the pillows, like _go ahead_ and Hawkeye sits on the edge of the bed and kicks off his shoes. Sid pulls a chair up to the other side, props his bare foot up on the mattress and leans his sketchpad against his thigh. Hawkeye turns around. 

“Um, do you want to do this like…like in class?” he asks, trying not to sound like he’s fumbling. Sid hides a smirk. 

“I’m perfectly happy to draw you with clothes on,” he says. “The thing I was struggling with was where your arms, chest and shoulders meet, and I can do that if you’re in an undershirt, if that’s all right.”

He can’t read the look that crosses Hawkeye’s face – relief? Regret? – but the confusion in it makes him certain he’s right to keep it low-key. “Well, I’m not wearing an undershirt,” Hawkeye mumbles. “Would it be okay – I mean, are you comfortable – if I just take off my shirt entirely? I’ll keep my pants on,” he adds in a rush.  
Sid nods, all business. “Works for me.”

Hawkeye strips off his hoodie and looks down at the bed the same way he looked at the stool in their first class, like he’s trying to gather himself. He goes down palms-first, spreading himself over the covers, tucking a pillow under his head, lying on his side with one arm thrown over his head. “Does this give you enough armpit to work with?” he asks.

Sid’s already started, barely nods. The two lapse into a more comfortable silence to the sound of his pencil. He shifts his focus to ribs – Hawkeye’s so thin he can count them, but the effect is more elegant than emaciated. He’s absorbed in the details of Hawkeye’s clavicle when Hawkeye suddenly sneezes. Sid looks up.

“Bless you.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s quite all right,” Sid says cheerfully, grabbing a tissue from the box under the bed. He sees Hawkeye follow his movement, sees the moment when he puts together why someone might keep such a thing in such a place, enjoys the blush he gets. Hawkeye takes the offered tissue and blows his nose. 

“You want to keep going?” Sid asks. “I’m good to stop here if you want.” 

“I could use a break,” Hawkeye admits. “This is more, uh, work than it looks.” Sid nods.

“You have to pick your poses carefully. I once knew a model who gave himself a muscle spasm from an awkward pose.”

“Uh, yeah,” Hawk says. Sid notices he’s turned away from him, one leg crossed conspicuously in a way to hide his lap. Sid tamps down on the urge to smirk. 

“What do you think about when you’re in a pose?” he asks as innocently as he can muster. “How do you keep from getting bored?”

“Stuff, Idunno,” Hawkeye says, fidding with the edge of Sid’s quilt. “Sometimes I run through the names of muscles and bones.”

“Taking anatomy?”

“Yeah, I’m pre-med.” 

“Oh, me too.”

“Oh yeah? I’m majoring in bio. I think I’m headed for surgery. You?”

“Psych.”

Hawkeye’s eyes narrow just a bit. Sid wonders if he doesn’t like therapists, or had a bad experience in a hospital once. He wouldn’t be the first.

“I’m just kind of fascinated with the inner workings of the human mind,” Sid explains. “Mostly in trying to figure out why people are so spectacularly awful to one another and how we persist in spite of it.” 

Hawkeye looks like he’s thinking about raising an eyebrow, like either Sid’s brilliant or full of shit. “I’m fascinated with the inner workings of the human chest cavity,” he announces. “You ever want to feel all-powerful, hold someone’s beating heart in your hand.”

“I’m not terrific with blood,” Sid admits.

“And you’re going to try and get through medical school?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

There’s a bit of an awkward pause as the conversation stalls. Sid hands Hawkeye the now-cold-and-oversteeped mug of apple cinnamon tea. Hawkeye takes a swig, tilts his face thoughtfully. “That’s not terrible.”

“There’s about half a pound of sugar in it.”

“That would be why.”

“Sweet tooth?”

“You could say so,” Hawkeye says, the flirtatious note sneaking back into his voice. “All my favorite things are savory, though.”

Sid raises an eyebrow at the tone shift. “Me, I like things bitter and smooth,” he says blandly. “Coffee. Good beer.” It’s the kind of sentence that is unremarkable in one context, but utterly pervertable to the suggestible mind. Hawkeye ducks his head and scratches behind one ear. _Gotcha,_ Sid thinks.

“Do you – do you want to sketch some more?” Hawkeye’s voice is just a hair higher than before. Sid considers it – he could play this game awhile longer, but he’s too curious about Hawkeye’s intentions.  
“I could. Or I could offer to compensate you for the extra time by working out those knots in your shoulder,” he says evenly, letting the words do the work for him.

Hawkeye doesn’t even hesitate. “That would be _amazing,_ ” he says, flopping onto his stomach. “Any time you’re ready,” he calls into the pillow. 

Sid can’t contain the smirk. He gets up on the bed and kneels over Hawkeye, coming at him from the side. He’s not hard or anything, but he there’s a difference between flirting and taking advantage. He digs his thumbs into Hawkeye’s shoulders, and the groan that comes up from the pillows is positively indecent.

“Glad that works for you,” Sid mutters with a touch of smugness. Francis did always say he had good hands. He works his way through the muscles, starting at the nape of Hawkeye’s neck (resisting a sudden impulse to wrap his finger in the tiny curl of hair there), spreading out to shoulders, trapezius, the edge of his scapula. He’s working his thumbs one step at a time down either side of Hawkeye’s spine when Hawkeye says, “that feels like it’s awkward for your wrists. You can change the angle if you want.” 

His voice is low and deeply relaxed, and Sid takes the invitation, because why not. He straddles Hawkeye’s lower back and dives back into his task, easing each knot, bit by bit as Hawkeye sounds his appreciation into the pillows. The moans go straight to Sid’s cock, and he stops pretending this is anything but a mutual seduction. He gets his fingers around Hawkeye’s waist, tracing the grooves of his hipbones down the front – ugh, he needs to draw those, as soon as humanly possible – and then into the small of his back, making small, deep circles. He’s intensely curious to see if this is doing to Hawkeye what it _sounds_ like it’s doing to Hawkeye.

He pauses, hauls himself off Hawkeye’s back (okay, it’s his ass, at this point, but he had a plausible excuse,) and places a gentle hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder. “How’re you feeling?” he asks. 

Hawkeye rolls over, grinning at him. Sid wills himself not to look and fails. Hawk’s at least as hard as he is. _Yes. Damn, yes._ Hawkeye reaches up and cups Sid’s cheek in his palm, and the gesture is so unbelievably tender. Sid reminds himself that he just met this kid, but before his brain gets any further, he turns his head and kisses Hawkeye’s palm. 

Hawkeye responds by sliding his hand around the back of Sid’s head and weaving his fingers into the curls. His eyes are so – drunk is really the only word – and he’s giving Sid the universal _I’m-about-to-kiss-you_ face, and Sid’s leaning in and how could something as soft as Hawkeye’s lips be so simultaneously electrifying. 

Sid closes his eyes and savors the heat as Hawkeye’s tongue finds his.


	4. Chapter 4

Kissing Hawkeye reminds him of high school. Not that it’s bad – far from it. They’ve both clearly had a fair amount of experience and approach each other’s bodies with measured respect and a certain degree of care. But it has the _really? Really?!_ excitement of having found the most wildly unexpected reception in an unlikely place. Hawkeye runs his hand over Sid’s arm and around his back. Kissing on their sides like this is a little uncomfortable, but this is an introduction. A handshake. Sid will wait for an invitation to go further.

He gets it when Hawkeye breaks away for a minute to look him over. “You are _really_ hot, you know that?” Hawkeye says. 

Sid grins, bashful. “Not so bad yourself,” he counters. “Then again, I’ve been staring at you a lot lately, and I oughta know.”

“That’s true,” Hawkeye says thoughtfully. “I think you should get naked right now, to put us on equal footing. It’s entirely unfair that you’ve been staring at my cock for two weeks now and all I’ve got is some ambiguous jean bulges and an overactive imagination.” He raises his eyebrows to Sid so he knows it’s a request, not a demand, but the pout that accompanies said request is irresistible.

“Just to look?” Sid asks innocently. “Well, if that’s all you want…” he unbuckles his belt with one hand and slides his jeans over his hips, still buttoned. Having a nonexistent butt and dorm food as his only option will do that to a guy. He grabs his socks on the way and tosses them all to the floor. He’s in boxer briefs, and Hawk is openly staring, licking his lips appreciatively. Sid swallows and puts his hands behind him, cradling his head in his hands.

“You want the rest?” he asks. Hawkeye nods vigorously. Sid gestures with a glance. “Have at it.”

Hawkeye scrambles to his knees and tentatively takes Sid’s shorts by the band. He can’t resist sliding a palm over the bulge and Sid closes his eyes and flutters them. Fuck, it’s been a long time. Four months is an eternity of solo pursuits. Hawkeye’s hands are long and lean, fingers delicate but strong. It’s barely a second before Sid lifts his hips so Hawkeye can slide his shorts off, and then he’s completely bare, cock against his stomach and Hawkeye is making tiny, needy sounds that make him throb.

“Sid,” Hawkeye says, his voice dark and rich as good coffee, “If I could draw worth shit, I would spend an hour on your cock.”

Sid chuckles. “That’s kind of you.”

Hawkeye grazes his hand over Sid’s cock and Sid jumps; he can’t help it, hips twitching up, cock aching. A moan escapes him. When he opens his eyes, Hawkeye’s looking at him in a way that can only be described as hungry. He finds whatever permission he’s looking for in Sid’s face and wraps his fingers around Sid’s cock, starts an easy, gentle stroke. Sid throws his head back and breathes through his teeth.

“Fuck, Sid,” Hawkeye breathes. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” His hand is steady, even strokes, and it feels so different from Sid’s own, so different from Francis, from the hands and mouths of other men, women, the few that have managed to undo him like this. The compliments about his body have always flown past him, dismissed as the babble that comes from being turned on, but there’s a note of something genuine in Hawkeye’s voice, something that snags on Sid’s ego and fills him with a blush.

Hawkeye stretches himself out next to Sid, still stroking, cupping, squeezing, puts his lips right next to Sid’s ear. “I want to know what faces you make when you’re getting head,” he whispers, and Sid bucks into his hand, turning and reaching for Hawkeye’s hips. 

“Not fair,” he gets out, squirming out of Hawkeye’s grasp. “Not fair you still have pants on.” Hawkeye laughs and shimmies out of his jeans faster than Sid can get there, and then he’s on top of Sid, hard and hot. Sid bends his knee up to give Hawkeye something firm to press against and Hawkeye’s eyes roll back as he works his hips, hands braced on either side of Sid’s shoulders, face twisted in pleasure. Sid watches, his mouth actually watering.

Hawkeye bends down to kiss him, and in the tangle of rut and grasp, he nearly falls off the bed. Sid clings to him and hauls until they’re securely back toward the middle, and they laugh with the relief and the joy of having been found like this, kissing more and deeper until Sid can’t stand it anymore. 

“What do you think –“ he kisses Hawkeye’s neck – “ – of – “ another kiss – “me on my knees – “ he reaches down to give Hawkeye a good firm stroke and an idea of what he’s thinking. Hakweye shudders and mumbles something unintelligible into Sid’s shoulder, and Sid waits, still holding him, not moving, until Hawkeye chokes out a “ _fuck_ yes, please.”

“I just want to be sure,” Sid says, starting to stroke again as he creeps to the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to get a condom?” 

Hawkeye’s eyes flicker. “Um, sure, if you want,” he says. “I’m clean, though, I got tested and I don’t – “ Sid holds up a hand.

“I wasn’t implying anything, just something I ask. I’m ok without if you are.” Hawkeye nods and Sid leans down, letting his breath land warm over Hawkeye’s lap while Hawkeye twists his fingers in Sid’s hair and tries to breathe. He goes slowly, inch by inch, enjoying the counterpoint of his deliberation with Hawkeye’s near-flailing reaction. He runs his mouth in a whisper, tugging at Sid’s hair, and it’s _hot._

“Oh _fuck_ your mouth is fucking amazing. You have a fucking incredible mouth, Sid, did anyone ever - _fuck_ \- tell you that? I – I can’t - _fuck_ \- you feel so good, so fucking good, I’m going to come like a high school kid, you make me feel like I haven’t done this before –”

Sid comes up, grinning, lets Hawkeye catch his breath. He’s never been with quite this much of a talker before, but he loves it, the unspooling id, all desire and pleasure and need. He goes back down and Hawkeye twitches in his mouth, hot and hard, and Sid never tires of being able to do this to a man, to bring them to the point of unraveling. His hand finds his way to his cock, and he’s sucking and stroking in rhythm until Hawkeye’s hips give way, start thrusting. Sid pulls off and finishes Hawkeye with his hand, stroking, twisting, hand firm but relaxed, the way he likes it on his own. Hawkeye holds his breath in the last few seconds, and then comes with a single loud gasp, a “ha” that sounds like a cross between panting and laughing, and Sid follows, grabbing one of the tissues from under the bed and finishing himself into it, his face buried in Hawkeye’s shaking thigh, muffling his groans.

He grabs another tissue and mops Hawkeye’s stomach and pulls himself up, flopping next to him on the bed. For a minute, they just lie there, catching breath and easing themselves back into the world. When Hawkeye finally finds the strength to roll over, he grins at Sid almost shyly. 

“You’re really pretty,” he says finally. “I think…if you’re okay with it, sometime I’d like to draw you.”

Sid smiles back. This kid is adorable and hot and has the makings of being potentially rather dear to him. Not boyfriend material, maybe, but definitely something. Something like this again.

“I’d be happy to,” he answers. “I don’t know about you but this is usually about the point where I pass out for an hour.”

“Oh, I can go,” Hawkeye says, making to get up, looking about for his shorts. 

“Or you can stay,” Sid says. “Plenty of room for two, if you want to sleep it off with me.”

Hawkeye looks at him like he can’t decide if the offer’s real. “It’s okay…” he says. “You don’t have to –”

“Nope,” Sid says cheerfully. “I certainly don’t. But I want to. If you want to. I’ve been told I don’t snore, and I’m a very skilled bed-sharer. No kicking.” That gets him a chuckle. He turns down the corner of the covers and Hawkeye scrambles in. Sid gets on the other side. They don’t touch, but the warmth between them is palpable.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inconvenient bodies.

The next few weeks settle into a kind of unhurried rhythm; the middle of the semester groove, everyone plugging along. Early flirtations easing into relationships or acquaintances, school assignments, the weather. It’s coming up on spring. Everyone’s shedding their jackets as soon as it hits 40.

Hawkeye and Sid haven’t gotten together again since their afternoon adventure, but there’s no real tension about it. They say hi warmly before class; Hawkeye’s picked up on Sid’s early-arrival habit, and often shows up in time to catch a word before the prof arrives. They sometimes chat during the break, or after, but Hawkeye hasn’t made another move, and neither has Sid.

Hawkeye, at least, has been otherwise occupied; he shows up with occasional love bites in various places, or with his hair tousled in a familiar way. And then there’s one afternoon, a few weeks away from finals, that brings them a bit closer. Hawkeye’s in a pose on the bench, and Sid’s figuring out how to draw his hair in a way that captures movement without going full-on Medusa, when Hawkeye doubles over in a coughing fit.

“You okay?” the prof calls. Hawkeye shakes his head, grabs his robe, hauls out of the room. Sid jumps up and follows, calling out that he’s got it. Miraculously, no one else follows.  
Sid gets to the hallway and Hawkeye is halfway into the men’s room. He follows, but Hawkeye has slammed himself into a stall and is breathing funny. Sid pounds on the door.  
“Hawkeye? Are you okay? What’s going on?” 

It takes him a second, but he realizes Hawkeye’s _laughing_. Long, gasp-filled guffaws. Sid’s more confused. “What the hell?”

Hawkeye’s answer is punctuated with giggling. “I – um – I’m having a problem, Sid, and – uh – I didn’t – I didn’t want to stick around to see – the class’s reaction.”

Sid’s still bewildered. “…what?”

Hawkeye opens the stall door, grabs Sid’s hand and thrusts it into his crotch. Sid’s eyes go wide. “ _Oh._ That kind of a –” but now he’s laughing too, and they’re both dissolving, sliding down the walls of the stall and collapsing into a recursive loop of hilarity.

Someone pounds on the door and asks if they’re okay and Hawkeye manages to say, “We’re coming out in a second!” and then makes a wry, eyebrow-waggling face at Sid, and he’s laughing so hard his stomach hurts. When was the last time he laughed like this?

“You know,” Sid says as they finally calm down enough to pull themselves together. “You could always try thinking about depressing things.”

“What do you think I’ve BEEN doing?” Hawkeye cries. “Car crashes. Baby rabbits getting eaten by foxes. Hungry children. My mom dying – ” he stops like he’s gone over the edge of something he didn’t see coming. “ – uh, the cafeteria menus. You know, all the really depressing stuff. It just wasn’t working today.”

“I see,” Sid says, choosing, for now, to ignore Hawkeye’s inadvertent revelation. “Have you tried, uh, taking care of things before class?”

“What, you mean jack off in a bathroom stall before getting naked?”

Sid gives him something between a nod and a shrug. Hawkeye chews on a fingernail thoughtfully. “Actually, it’s probably a good idea.” He waggles his eyebrows again. “Wanna help?”

Sid checks his watch. “Class is actually over in 5 minutes. Shall we tell them you have whooping cough? Pneumonia? PTSD?”

Hawkeye shrugs. “Just tell them I was having a hard time.”

Sid nods, and holds out a hand to Hawkeye. They pull themselves up together. Hawkeye straightens and re-ties his robe. Sid dusts himself off and checks the mirror, Hawkeye beside him. While he’s fussing with his hair, Hawkeye reaches down and gives his backside a gentle smack. Sid jumps just a bit.

“What was that for?”

“Oh, a thank-you.”

“You could try writing a card.”

“Nah. Not the kind of thank-you I was going for. Hey, no pressure, but do you want to get together again sometime? I had fun with you.”

Sid feels a huge smile coming over him. “Yeah. I think I’d like that. We can put that uncooperative body of yours to better use.”

Hawkeye gives him an impish wink in the mirror, then quickly turns and kisses him on the cheek, calling out a goodbye as he sweeps out of the lav. Sidney’s left with his increasingly blush-filled reflection and the kind of warmth that comes from muscles sore with laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is much blushing, and the prelude to much fucking.

_Need Thai food. Your place?_

The text comes unexpectedly, five days before finals. Sid’s been gearing up in his usual fashion, stacking books like guardians to the entrance of his desk and doing all his laundry in anticipation of not coming up for anything over the next week and a half. 

There’s no question about who it’s from; he and Hawkeye have been making and canceling plans for weeks, now. There’s nothing offensive about it, just the realities of midterms and, Sid assumes, other commitments on Hawkeye’s schedule. It’s not that Sid’s a loner; he’s very receptive to friendship. He’s just not great at initiating things. Which is what makes someone like Hawkeye a very useful sort of friend. Hawkeye knows everyone and isn’t shy about introductions, which is how Sid gets to know a handful of kids from drawing class that he meets for dinner occasionally. 

Nevertheless, takeout and companionship of any kind sound like a good plan for a pre-crunch evening. He texts back, _Sounds good. 6?_

Hawkeye arrives at 5:58, uncharacteristically early, and greets Sid with a bear hug. 

“It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?” he says over Sid’s shoulder. 

“I was going to say I was starting to forget what you looked like, but then I remembered that I saw every inch of you in detail on Tuesday,” Sid says. Hawkeye cracks up. “Hey,” Sid adds, “have you been taking my advice? I could swear you looked almost impressively flaccid this week.”

Hawkeye pulls back, gives him a wink and makes a motion like he’s zipping his lips. Sid impulsively leans in and gives him a kiss on the lips – something more than a peck, but less than a real kiss, affectionate and warm.

“I’m _starving_ ” Hawkeye says dramatically, throwing himself on Sid’s bed and kicking off his Chucks. Sid’s almost envious at the way he invites himself in, seems at home wherever he goes, but there’s something about it that warms him, too. “You want to call them, or me?”

Hawkeye waves a hand like _you go ahead_ and fishes a few bills out of his pocket. “Get me something noodleish that’s not spicy.” Sid chuckles. 

“What? You know, I didn’t have Thai food until last year. Rural Maine’s a little short on takeout options. You won’t steer me wrong though, Mr. Big City Boy. I trust you.” 

Sid makes the call, ordering a pad thai for Hawkeye and a spicier curry dish for himself. He hangs up and sprawls next to Hawkeye, who immediately curls up next to him and kisses his temple.  
“I missed you, Sid, you know that?”

“Yeah? I missed you, too. You’ve been a busy man.”

Hawkeye shrugs. “Big world out there. Doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you.” He slides a hand down Sid’s sweater, dips his fingertips below Sid’s belt. Sid buckles just a little bit and closes his eyes; he can’t help it. No one’s touched him like this since the afternoon he and Hawkeye shared weeks and weeks ago. Hawkeye’s fingertips search for bare skin, find his hipbone. Sid shivers, biting back a moan.

“Sid?” Hawkeye’s whispering at his ear. “You okay?”

Sid forces his eyes open, turns toward Hawkeye. “I’m okay,” he says. “Your hand feels good.”

Hawkeye smiles in the way that crinkles his eyes, wiggles his fingers against Sid’s skin. “Hey Sid,” he whispers, “what’re the odds I can get you off before the food gets here?” 

Sid swallows, makes himself look into Hawkeye’s eyes. “Depends on how long you keep doing what you’re doing,” he says, aiming his voice low. Hawkeye’s hand slips a few inches, threading his fingers through Sid’s curls, the tips just barely brushing his cock. Sid lets himself close his eyes again, lifting his hips into Hawkeye’s hand. “It’s – it’s been a minute.”

Hawkeye leans over and kisses Sidney for real this time, full, open, their tongues gently finding each other as he practically breaks his wrist trying to get his hand around Sid’s cock. Sidney reaches for the back of Hawkeye’s head, sliding his fingers into Hawkeye’s long, silky hair and gripping it deep at the roots. Hawkeye flutters his eyelids and moans into Sid’s mouth and fuck, that’s _hot_.

Hawkeye eventually breaks the kiss and moves down Sid’s neck, putting a hand on his chest to keep him down. He pulls up Sid’s sweater, nipping and kissing whatever skin he finds, while Sid aches, writhing with a hand pressed over his eyes.

Finally, he feels Hawkeye shift around, then both his hands on the waist of his pants, and he’s pulling them down over Sid’s hips, taking his shorts with him, and before Sid can sit up or look, he feels Hawkeye’s mouth on him, hot and wet and needy, sucking hard. Sid bucks involuntarily, a shuddering sigh escaping his throat. 

“That’s good,” Hawkeye murmurs, kissing Sid’s length, the inside of his thigh. “You’re a real live wire, aren’t you, Freedman?”

“Yeah, well, somebody turned me on,” Sid says between gasps. “ _Hawkeye._ ”

“Yessss?” 

Sid finally lifts his head. The sight of Hawkeye on his knees, between his legs, eyes simultaneously patient and pouty, nearly undoes him. “Is this what you want?” he asks, uncertainly. It’s not exactly the right question, but he can’t find the words he really means.

Hawkeye cocks his head in an exaggerated imitation of consideration. “Hmm. Do I want the hottest guy in art class losing his mind because I’m doing unspeakably filthy things to him? Let me think. _yeah, I think this is what I want, Sidney._ ”

Sid grins. “I suppose what I was really asking is if you’ve ever done…more than this.” This time, there’s no mockery in Hawkeye’s face. His eyes get big. Sid’s hit some kind of nerve, but he’s dying of curiosity, dying to know if the image he’s been using as personal fantasy material for weeks might ever come true.

“What do you mean, more?” Hawkeye asks, nuzzling Sid’s thigh. Good. He’s not scared. Sid reaches for Hawkeye’s hand and sits up, pulling him up to the bed with him. He kisses Hawkeye softly.

“I mean,” he whispers in between kissing Hawkeye’s jaw, his neck. “If you’ve ever let someone – if you want something more - _intimate_.” He pauses, letting his hand find the back of Hawkeye’s head again, cupping it gently and working his fingers into his hair. “It’s okay if you don’t. I was curious. I’d be more than happy to keep going as you were – your mouth is _really_ something. But – ”

“Oh _fuck,_ Sid,” Hawkeye cuts him off. “You really – you want to – ”

“Assuming we’re not talking about radically different things,” Sid chuckles. 

Hawkeye pulls back for a second, all tease and mischief. “We’re talking about letting me draw you naked, right?” Sid startles; _fuck_ has he misjudged the whole thing?

“Um, that’s not what I meant, exactly, but I am _definitely_ up for – ” but Hawkeye’s laughing in that way Sid loves, that makes him feel like he’s in on the joke instead of the butt of it.

“Sid, if you’re asking me how I like to get fucked, the answer is _yes, all the ways_ ,” he says, kissing Sid’s cheek. “You sweet, awkward man. How could I resist an invitation like that?”

Sid’s grinning so hard he’s going to dislocate a cheek. He reaches under his bed and pulls out the kit Francis had carefully crafted for him after a few months: a plastic crate filled with gloves, lube, condoms, fresh towels, alcohol wipes, and a few other essentials buried on the bottom he’s not ready to share with Hawkeye yet.

Hawkeye eyes the kit with respect. “I should really make myself one of these,” he says idly grabbing a towel. 

“It’s handy,” Sid says as he pulls on a glove and throws a towel down for Hawkeye to lie on. “Now get down and let me get to work.” 

Hawkeye wriggles out of the rest of his clothes, but he’s shivering a little, so Sid gives him the biggest towel to throw over his back while he warms him up. He starts with his ungloved hand, rubbing Hawkeye’s back, running his hand over his thighs, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. Hawkeye, for his part, can’t hold still. He leans into the touch like a cat, wriggling happily. 

Sid squeezes a dollop of lube over his other hand and carefully runs the tips of his fingers between Hawkeye’s cheeks. Hawkeye rocks his hips back, looking for more, a long and delicious _mmmmm_ slipping through his lips. Sid slips his arm around Hawkeye’s waist to hold him steady as he works his fingers in circles, pressing, opening, preparing him, and the noises falling out of Hawkeye’s throat are equal parts appreciative and whining for more.

Sid moves so that he’s kneeling, sitting on his heels, and pulls Hawkeye over his lap so he can get better leverage and keep him pinned. Hawkeye immediately grinds against his lap, relishing the skin-on-skin contact. Sid slowly pushes a finger into him, and Hawkeye grabs at the nearest pillow, buries his head and lets out a long, breathy “ _Fuuuuuck,_ ” the exhale relaxing him enough to let Sid in past his knuckle. His own cock drips, pressed between his stomach and the soft skin over Hawkeye’s ribs.

Two fingers later, Hawkeye turns to look over his shoulder. “Sid?” he says, his voice soft and high and a little distant. “I’m good. I’m ready. Please?” Sidney smiles at him, enjoying the desire in his voice, how he’s already clearly got Hawkeye floating. He grabs a condom from the crate, slowly withdraws his fingers, rips off the glove and tosses it expertly in the perfectly-distanced garbage.   
And then there’s a knock on the door.

“Delivery!”

Hawkeye groans and shoves his head under the pillows as if that’s the answer to make the intrusion go away. Sid rolls off the bed, throws on his bathrobe, grabs cash from his desk and opens the door just barely wide enough to hand it over and grab the bag. The delivery guy heads out, and Sid puts the bag of food down on his desk before turning his attention back to Hawkeye, who looks genuinely distressed.

“I am _so hungry_ and I need you to fuck me _right this second,_ ” he announces. Sid looks him over: mussed hair, bites blooming on his neck and shoulders, still hard, and a near-wild look in his eye. He’s tempted to let Hawkeye try to eat while he fucks him – his own desire’s nearing a level of desperation he’d rather not admit – but then imagines what it would do to his sheets, and Hawkeye choking on a mouthful of noodles, and offers a crafty smile instead.

“I promise, we can eat and I’ll still be interested after,” he says. “Maybe you can sit on my lap and eat at my desk.”

Hawkeye’s up in a flash, jerking the chair back and looking at Sid impatiently while he doles out the utensils and boxes. “Easy,” he says, laughing, “you’ll feel better when you’ve eaten, I promise.”  
It’s not easy, exactly, eating around a wriggling Hawkeye, but he manages to get a few hearty mouthfuls of coconut and beef while Hawkeye frantically slurps noodles. They both tip back Styrofoam cups of ice tea, overly sweet with sugar and milk, but it works for getting the taste of lemongrass out of his mouth. Hawkeye turns around, legs splayed out to either side, and gives up entirely, kissing Sid long and deep, until Sid breaks away and sends him back to the bed.

Hawkeye flops down dramatically, tucks his knees under him and wags. Sid smiles. “I’m on my way,” he says reassuringly, slurping the dregs of his iced tea. He crawls back into bed and puts a hand on Hawkeye’s lower back. 

“Hawkeye?”

“What is it, you gorgeous hunk of manliness?”

Sid’s not sure how he’s going about this. “…How much experience do you have with this?” 

Hawkeye stills, sits up, looks back at him. “This isn’t – it’s not _your_ first time, is it? You’re so…prepared.” Sid shakes his head.

“No, no, I just wanted to know about you.”

“Don’t worry about me – ” Hawkeye begins, but Sid holds up a hand.

“Ok, let me be more clear. Have you ever used toys? Is that something you’d be into?”

He’s got it. Hawkeye blushes, drops his eyes. Sid can see him scrambling for the bravado he passes off as confidence. “Well, it’s not – um – I haven’t, but – ”

“Hey, that’s okay,” Sid says. “I just wanted to know. And um – ” he leans over the side of the bed, rummaging around in the sex crate until his hand hits what he wants. He’s suddenly so grateful for his tendency toward overpreparedness – he hasn’t needed these since Francis. He grabs the disposable enema and tosses it into Hawkeye’s lap.

Hawkeye turns _purple_. Sid’s almost relishing it.

“Ok, so, judging by that face, this is not a familiar arena either,” he says, unable to help smiling. “If it helps, my own introduction was…not very long ago. The good news is that it’s very helpful and gets rid of certain…anxieties when you want to be otherwise occupied.”

“And the bad news?” says Hawkeye, who still won’t look up. He turns the box over in his hands, scrutinizing every inch of fine print and bad marketing.

“The bad news,” Sid says, grinning, “is that you basically need a very awkward twenty minutes to go be alone with yourself and sort it out. Which I am _more_ than happy to give you. There’s instructions on the box. And I promise, I will neither be grossed out nor laughing. I remember own first time way too clearly for that.”

He can see Hawkeye trying to make it Not A Big Deal, steadying himself and trying to stay casual. “So, uh, where’s your bathroom?” Hawkeye manages to get out.

“There’s a single at the other end of the hall – stall and shower, but a door that locks,” Sid explains. “Very useful. So, you’re in?”

Hawkeye looks up with his bravest smile. “See you in twenty.”

As he saunters out the door in Sid’s bathrobe, Sid lies back on the rumpled covers and towel, feeling his own blush flood his face. Still, he thinks, it feels nice to be able to upend Hawkeye’s been-there-done-that veneer and find the sweet country boy beneath. It warms him. He reaches for his psych text, grabs his highlighter, and rolls onto his stomach, hoping to look as debauchable as possible when Hawkeye comes back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally.

Sid hears the door open quietly behind him and resists the impulse to leap under the covers or into his shorts, instead kicking his heels up and whistling as nonchalantly as dry lips will let him. His pulse is going fast enough to get him airborne.

“Well, well, well,” he hears Hawkeye say behind him. He crawls into bed next to Sid, running an appreciative hand over the back of his thigh, the curve of his ass, all the way up his back before lying down next to him. Sid looks up from his book with what he hopes is a curious and amused look on his face. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Hawkeye says softly, leaning in for a kiss, which Sid returns with something between eagerness and desperation.

“How’re you doing?” Sid asks when they break for a breath. He tilts his head toward their feet. Hawkeye raises his eyebrows like _wow_.

“I feel…” he says like he’s searching for a really good quip, “Nope, got nothing. I’m good! Like you said, it was horribly awkward and at least three people knocked while I was in there, which was the worst part. I mean, how do you say, ‘Sorry, gonna be here awhile, putting my bowels through a car wash?’ without sound like kind of a weirdo?”

Sid laughs. “Sounds right, yeah.” 

“But _damn_ Sid, you could eat out of my ass right now. It’s never been this clean. I feel like I’ve walked out of an anal confessional.”

“You’ve lost me,” Sid says, grinning. “No part of me – including my ass –has ever seen the inside of a confessional.”

“Ah, right, your people like to keep it public.”

“What’s the point of a good penance if it’s not done for all to see?”

“That’s a fascinating question, Dr. Freedman, but what I’m really more interested in is when you’re going to fuck me like you promised.” He bats his eyelashes in a way that should be funny but that has Sid wanting to roll him over and fuck him senseless.

“Oh?” he says, fluttering his own at Hawkeye. “I didn’t hear the magic word.”

Hawkeye squirms and closes his eyes. The soft, “ _please_ ” that comes out of him is from an entirely different register, a different place in him. It’s earnest and needy and maybe just a little nervous, but to Sid, it’s like Hawkeye rolled himself over and showed his belly.

For all the affection between them, this is the first time Hawkeye’s shown him real trust, and it knocks him for a loop. Sid slips his hand into Hawkeye’s, weaving their fingers together and gives a squeeze. Hawkeye squeezes back, eyes still closed. Sid leans over and whispers in his ear, “I want you so much right now,” and watches a shudder go through Hawkeye.

Enough is enough. Sid reaches into the crate for a fresh glove and a condom while still holding Hawkeye’s hand. “You’re going to get up on your knees a bit for me,” he says, low but confident, sliding into the tone like he’s picking up a comfortable pair of reins. He eases his hand out of Hawkeye’s, making sure to keep some kind of contact, using his foot to stroke Hawkeye’s ankle. He puts the glove on as quietly as he can, and moves back toward Hawkeye’s hips.

He’s still somewhat relaxed, but Sid gives him the full working-over, just to be sure, alternating between massaging and opening him with two fingers, then three; he knows that’s just a hair more than his actual girth, so it’ll be enough. Hawkeye stays wherever he went when he said, “please” – he’s still responsive as hell, but his moans fluctuate to both ends of the scale, high and needy into a low half-growl when Sid does his best to spread his fingers. 

Only Sid’s dedication to his own meticulous standards keeps him from taking Hawkeye immediately, but Hawkeye starts _begging_ and it’s too much not to give him what he wants – “Oh _fuck_ Sid, just like that, fill me up, fuck, I want your cock so much, want you to fuck me, please – please, Sid?”

Sid reluctantly withdraws his fingers, scraps the glove, grabs the condom and gives himself the fastest lube job in the history of sex or automobiles. He pushes himself into Hawkeye slowly, enjoying the way his hands scramble for the pillow and hold it close under his chest while Sid eases himself in. Now it’s Sid’s turn to run his mouth; he rubs Hawkeye’s lower back, whispering, “That’s it, that’s it; let me in, let me fill you up. I know how badly you need it; you’ve been so patient, so good – ” there’s a sound that comes from Hawkeye that’s halfway between a sigh and a sob when he says that, so he goes deeper – “so good, letting me in, yes, yes, I want this as much as you do, and you feel so _good,_ \- _augh_ \- he reaches for more lube, then around to Hawkeye’s cock. 

“You’re going to come,” he says, voice low and rough as he starts stroking, “You’re going to come on my cock and I’m going to completely lose it; you’re too fucking tight, too fucking _good_. Gonna fill you up.” Fanatic condom use aside, the image is one that’s always appealed to him, and if Hawkeye’s muffled groan into the pillow is anything to go by, it works for him, too. He’s bucking into Sid’s hand, tight and needy, and Sid barely realizes he’s on the edge before Hawkeye jerks once, twice, cock twitching in his hand, ass tightening around his cock with such suddenness that Sid goes with him, driving deep and hard, emptying himself into Hawkeye’s beautiful, open body.

He pulls out carefully, and Hawkeye whines – Sid knows from how alarmingly empty he feels, how suddenly alone, so he slides up alongside Hawkeye and pulls him to his chest, both sweaty and panting. “That was – that was fucking amazing,” Hawkeye says. “How is there not a line out the door for that cock of yours?”

Sid smirks into his hair. “Best-kept secret on campus,” he murmurs. “Well, or it was, until now.”

“No way,” Hawkeye breathes. “I’m keeping you to myself. For now, anyway. I wish you could fuck me again right now.”

Sid chuckles. “Tall order, even for me, bucko. But that does give me an idea.”

“I _love_ your ideas,” Hawkeye says. “They are the best ideas. All of them.”  
Sid reaches over Hawk into the crate, fumbling under the towels. Ah, there it is. He pulls out the smallest plug he owns, just three beads no thicker than his thumb on a wide base. He can hear Hawkeye’s breath catch as he brings it into view. He puts it down where Hawkeye can see it and murmurs. “As soon as I can feel my legs, I’ll show you what to do with this.” 

Hawkeye shivers again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think I might be falling for you a little bit.”
> 
> “Ah.”

They fall asleep first. As much as he wants to stay awake – as much as he can’t _wait_ to see what happens when he introduces Hawkeye to the wild and amazing world of silicone pleasures – Sid sinks into the hazy warm afterglow, and dozes off with Hawkeye in his arms. He briefly wakes when he feels Hawkeye stirring, but he’s just grabbing the edge of the blanket to throw over them both, and then it’s warmer, and closer, and Sid fades out with his nose in Hawkeye’s shoulder.

When he wakes for real, it’s dark out. The streetlight outside comes in through the window, and everything feels cozy and possible, the way it always does before sunrise. He’s hard again, pressed into the cleft of Hawkeye’s ass and he can’t help giving a tiny push with his hips. Hawkeye pushes back against him, sleepily but definitely conscious, and they wake themselves up with it, Sid giving a bit more with each thrust, and Hawkeye returning with matched eagerness. They end up shaking the blanket off themselves; Sid runs his palm down Hawkeye’s sternum, down his stomach (he loves feeling Hawkeye clench against his skin), skims it over his cock and Hawkeye moans, mouth open, the sound seeming so much sharper in the dark.  
“Now, where were we?” Sid murmurs as he cups Hawkeye in his palm and gives just enough of a squeeze to make him gasp. “Oh, right. You were going to show me how well you could take other things –” he gives another thrust – “up your ass.” Hawkeye nods furiously, reaches behind him, trying to get to Sid. Sid withdraws his hand from Hawkeye’s crotch, takes his slender wrist and pins it to the bed. “None of that,” he says calmly. “It’s your turn.” He gropes around for the plug – where the hell had it gone when they fell asleep? – and finds it under Hawkeye’s pillow. “Were you hoping the tooth fairy would come?” he asks, unable to resist the giggles.

“Well, _some_ kind of fairy,” Hawkeye replies. Sid groans and pretends to pound his head on Hawkeye’s shoulder. 

“I earned that,” he admits. He turns his attention back to the tool (he _hates_ the word toy) in his hand, and, knowing Hawk can’t really see it, brings it up to his lips. “Suck it,” he whispers, and Hawkeye whimpers, opens his lips. “See?” Sid says, “It’s not so big. Makes a nice gag, too.” He leaves the plug in Hawkeye’s mouth and lightly rakes his fingernails down his front. Hawkeye twitches and snorts. 

“Don’t let it fall out.” Sid’s voice is barely at a whisper. He hears Hawkeye take a long breath through his nose. He aims for another ticklish spot right about his hipbone, and this time, the sound that comes from Hawkeye is desperate, needy, perfect. He reaches up and pulls the plug out with a pop.

“Meanie,” Hawkeye pants. “That was cruel.” 

“Oh, did you not like it?” Sid asks innocently. He reaches down; Hawkeye’s hard, dripping, practically shaking with need. “Funny, seems like you did.”

Hawkeye struggles for a second, like he’s searching for a punchline, a retort, but he finally closes his hand around Sid’s, the one that’s holding the plug. “I’d like this more,” he says.

“You got it,” says Sid, sitting up and reaching for another condom. He slips it over the plug and lubes it generously. “Get up a little? This’ll go easier on your knees.” Hawkeye complies, rolling onto his stomach and tucking his knees under him.

The plug goes in as easily as Sid’s finger, Hawkeye humming tunelessly as he takes it. When the base is nestled against his body, Sid gives him a second to get used to it. Hawkeye rolls around, onto his back, his side, testing it out.

“It’s a little weird? But I think I like it,” he says. 

“You want to know what really makes it sing?” 

“Tell me.”

“Want me to show you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Come sit on the chair.”

Hawkeye lowers himself tentatively, then sighs as he settles, wriggling against the seat. 

“I’m going to tie you to that thing. I’m afraid you’re going to fall off.”

Hawkeye just waggles his eyebrows. Sid can barely see him, but he can practically hear it. He tosses a pillow at Hawkeye’s feet and gets to his knees, leans over. He takes Hawkeye into his mouth slowly, as Hawkeye lets out a soft, high, “ohhh, _fuck_.” He grabs Sid by the hair, working his fingers deep into the curls, and Sid sucks him as deeply as he can, until his nose is just inches from Hawkeye’s lap. 

“ _Fuck,_ Sid, I have never – never felt anything so fucking - oh _fuck_.” His voice cracks, and Sid feels the heady rush of _I did that,_ the particular thrill he’s relished with nearly every partner he’s ever had. Making Francis swear was his favorite game. He was good at it. Teaching Hawkeye some of the finer points of the genre is an easy second.

He settles into a rhythm, bobbing his head, taking occasional breaks to stroke and tease, letting Hawkeye sweat it out. He uses his hands to reach for the places he knows already on Hawkeye’s body; the small of his back, his nipples, his neck. At one point, he reaches up and slides two fingers into Hawkeye’s mouth, and he can almost hear Hawkeye’s eyes roll back in his head as he sucks them, slipping his tongue into the space between Sid’s fingers and making him shiver.

Fuck, he loves this – loves playing bodies like instruments, tightening and tuning by sound, reaching for the high, wild notes of wanting. Hawkeye’s shaking and whimpering around his fingers and Sid knows he’s close. The effect is so erotic he desperately wishes he had a free hand to stroke himself with. He speeds up with his mouth as Hawkeye starts thrusting back – he _really_ should’ve tied him down, and Hawkeye pulls his head off Sid’s fingers to gasp wordlessly, hand tapping Sid’s shoulder in warning.

Sid waits until Hawkeye’s cock starts twitching in his mouth before he pulls off at the last second, replacing mouth with hand and stroking long, firm strokes as Hawkeye comes apart over his belly and chest, loud and rough, words tumbling out of him half-finished. Sid grins. He really, _really_ likes this part.

Finally, Hawkeye slumps, boneless and whimpering. Sid throws an arm around him and gets him back to bed. Hawkeye reaches down to ease the plug out, buckling and panting as each bead makes its way out. “ _Fuck_. I need to get myself one of those. No, four. In different shapes. Maybe seven.”

“One for each day of the week; that works,” Sid says.

“Sid, I owe you the world’s best blowjob for that.”

“How about we forget keeping score and just keep going until we lose track?”

“Works for me.”

A comfortable silence settles over them as they lie tangled on Sid’s covers.

“Sid?”

“Yeah?”

“You want me to go?”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Well, it’s past curfew.”

“Someone waiting for you at home?”

“I just figured you might like me to clear out. Don’t wanna overstay my welcome.”

Sid wraps his arm around Hawkeye and pulls him closer. “The welcome stays,” he says gently. “You’re a terrific lay, you know that? I’m not the only one they should be lining up for.”

“I try.”

“I won’t be upset if you want to go home. But you are invited to stay if you want to sleep here.”

“Jesus, what time is it, anyway?”

“Looks like it’s about 11.”

“It’s early!”

“For you, maybe.” Sid yawns. “Usually about this point, I’m pouring my fourth cup of tea and closing up shop.”

“Sid?”

“Mmm?”

“I think I might be falling for you a little bit.”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, ‘ah?’”

“I mean you should stay the night and see how you feel in the morning.”

“I know how I’ll feel in the morning. And if you’re next to me in the morning, then I’m not responsible for what happens.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Definitely.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~fin~

Morning comes, and with it, desperate needs: coffee. Showers. Shaves. Another chance to fuck before class, this time with Hawkeye on his knees, mouth stretched and humming over Sid, who is head-back hallelujahs and boneless before he’s really awake. Hawkeye steals his towel while he’s splayed out on the bed, recovering, and comes back dripping and grinning, pouncing on Sid and shaking his head in a gleeful spray.

Sid sends him on his way with a hearty smack on the rump and a “Seeya tomorrow,” that quickly turns into smirks and giggles. Hawkeye’s going to pose for him in class tomorrow, and this time, it’ll be Sid struggling to keep himself under control. Hawkeye turns and gives him one last kiss before he sashays out of the room, and it’s warm and affectionate.

“I knew you hadn’t fallen in love with me,” Sid says smugly. “I’m just that good. You think you’re the first?”

“If you weren’t so right, I’d hate you,” Hawkeye calls over his shoulder as he heads down the hall.

They don’t write over the summer, and into the fall, without art class, Sid doesn’t expect Hawkeye to find room for him. It’s a pleasant surprise to finish class one day and find two texts from Hawkeye inviting him over for dinner. They inhale a large pizza between them, and Hawkeye shows him the two plugs he procured over the summer on a trip to the city.

“Nicest people you’ve ever met, Sid,” he says earnestly. “They were so, I don’t know, sweet and earnest about making sure I knew what I was doing. They had to ask me seventeen times if I was sure I didn’t want more lube.”

Sid’s impressed; his own collection has come from carefully curated online purchases, delivered to school in anonymous wrappings. He can’t fathom going into a store and casually chatting with some stranger about his sex life.

“Anyway,” says Hawkeye, “Now that they’ve got me in the dorm with the kitchen, I can sneak down at odd hours and make sure these beauties are properly sterilized – in the dishwasher.” He cackles at Sid’s horrified look. “Remember that the next time you ask me for a real plate.”

This time, it’s Sid’s turn to experiment and try, rhythmically rocking his hips against Hawkeye’s desk chair while Hawkeye sucks him off. The sex is fantastic, but there aren’t any more declarations of love, sex-drunk or otherwise. They talk about art, and med school applications; Hawkeye figures out that Sidney’s psychiatric ambitions are more than dreams, but talents. In time, he starts pouring his life out – his mother’s death, his father’s love and silences, the boy named Tommy.

Sid, for his part, doesn’t just listen; he tells Hawkeye what it was like to grow up in a city, in a place so alive and constantly buzzing it had a heartbeat. His mother’s love, and worry. The way the streets filled with Jews on Saturday mornings, and how he misses feeling like he’s among vastly extended family all the time. He teaches him about lox and bagels when he brings up a crisp white shopping bag from a weekend trip home. Yiddish begins to creep its way into Hawkeye’s mouth.

“Such a _punim_ ” he says, grabbing Sid’s cheek like some elderly uncle. “You’re too thin, boychik, you need to eat more bagels.”

There are darker times, too, where Sid doesn’t know what drives Hawkeye to his door, where the sex is wordless, raw – sometimes Sid wonders what kind of pain Hawkeye doesn’t share, what twists him up like that. He tries to be gentle without showing it.

In that year, they actually study sometimes. At least once, Sid wakes with a nightmare to find Hawkeye already up and rubbing his back, gentling him out of it. They sleep together about once a month. Whatever’s between them – it has roots now.

The night before graduation, Sid’s little off-campus studio apartment packed up and ready to move, Hawkeye comes by for a last hurrah, with a bottle of champagne, and a gift: a glittering purple dildo that’s larger than Sid. He accepts it with a guffaw, waggling his eyebrows at Hawkeye.

“I think this is one of those suggestive gifts, like the time my father bought my mother a vacuum,” he says lightly.

“No way,” Hawkeye replies. “I know what you’re going to do with this. You’re going to find some gorgeous man and take him apart, piece by piece, while he writhes on top of this thing and weeps blasphemous prayers at your ceiling.”

“That’s awfully specific.”

“Never let it be said that my imagination failed me in crucial moments.”

There’s a beat, and then Hawkeye gives him a long kiss, the kind that ends with Sid on his back and breathless. Hawkeye’s got stars in his eyes as he lifts Sid’s shirt over his head. He’s really leaving.

“Hawkeye?”

“Mmm?”

“I wanted – I wanted you to have the apartment. For next year. It’s kind of a perfect spot and the rent is a steal, and there’s three months left on the lease so you can renew it in the fall and –”

“Sid are you kidding me? Really? I can have it?!” Hawkeye’s eyes dart around the apartment, obviously sizing it up for crash pad potential – he’s done a lot to grow his reputation this year.

“It’s yours if you want it.”

___

 

Some months later, Sid’s phone buzzes with an email from Hawkeye. _Freedman, I’m such an idiot. I’m in way over my head and I don’t know what to do. I wish I could love him the way I love you – it’s good and it’s deep, but you’ve never made me feel like I’ve lost my mind. What is this mishegas? (I used it correctly, right?)_

_What does it mean that I want you to meet him? That I want to take to the rooftops and howl about him?_

_Anyway, I’m trying to say thank you. For the apartment. For teaching me. For the patience and the humor and whatever it is you saw in me that looked like fun. For being there and not asking too many devastating questions._

_What I’m trying to tell you, Sid, is I wouldn’t be most of the good parts of myself without you. The good parts mostly being the ones that know their way around a butt plug._

_If he knew, the new ~~boyfriend~~ ~~gentleman caller~~ guy would thank you, too._

_Come visit sometime._

_Love,_

_  
Hawkeye_


End file.
